


the freckles in our eyes

by rhymeswithpi



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Injury, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, apparently that is a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28912740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: There’s a yelp behind him, a clatter as the knife is dropped. He turns around to Prompto, wrapping a hand towel around his hand and clutching it to his chest.“Prompto? What happened?”“Um. The knife slipped? A bit? And uh. Oh. That’s. That’s a lot of blood.”
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74





	the freckles in our eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greyskiesblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskiesblack/gifts).



> for the lovely greyskiesblack, who valiantly read through 150k of unedited fic over two fandoms and bullied me into making something readable out of the garbage pile  
> you're an awesome friend and an amazing person and i will _fight you_ if you disagree with me  
> title is again a vague reference to another hipster bullshit song i adore. this time it's "such great heights", covered by iron and wine

There’s a yelp behind him, a clatter as the knife is dropped. He turns around to Prompto, wrapping a hand towel around his hand and clutching it to his chest.

“Prompto? What happened?”

“Um. The knife slipped? A bit? And uh. Oh. That’s. That’s a lot of blood.”

It really _is_ , and Ignis has to take a moment to steady himself. The red is already seeping through the towel. Gladio gets across the kitchen before he does, guides Prompto into a chair before he has a chance to fall over. Which is starting to look like a real concern, from the way the colour has drained from Prompto’s face.

But Gladio has at least _that_ part handled, so he runs to the bathroom, instead, pulls the first aid kit out from under the cupboard. It’s one of the few things he’d insisted on unpacking before they made dinner, and probably the best decision he’s made today.

He takes another minute to calm himself before stepping back into the main room. Gladio is holding Prompto’s arm up with one hand, rubbing circles on his back with the other. He crosses the room, kneels down in front of Prompto, squeezes his knee as he sets down the kit to fish out an alcohol wipe. Not that it’s going to do _much_ , but cleaning up what he can might help Prompto calm down enough to assess the damage.

“Come now, it’s not that bad,” Ignis says, carefully wiping the blood off Prompto’s arm. “You don’t even need to look at it. Just keep looking at me, alright? We’ll have you patched up in no time.”

He can feel Prompto’s pulse racing under his fingertips. Reasonable, considering the circumstances. It’s not like he can pretend he would be perfectly calm if he’d just sliced his hand open.

“I’m going to need you to let me look at your hand, Prompto. Close your eyes, if you must.”

Prompto exhales shakily and lowers his arm from over his head, eyes squeezed shut. Ignis hisses out a breath when he finally coaxes Prompto into pulling the sodden towel away from his hand. This isn’t something that can be fixed with a plaster, then. Not that he thought it _would_ be, based on the sheer amount of blood. He tosses the towel into the sink and grabs the clean one off the oven door, carefully wrapping it back around Prompto’s hand.

“Alright, then. Prompto, this is more than I can do here. We’ll need to get you to a clinic so they can clean it up properly.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Prompto gasps. “Can’t go to a clinic. Can’t _afford_ \--”

“Prompto. Perhaps I wasn’t being clear enough there. We are going to take you to a proper doctor, and you won’t need to worry about the cost. Now, can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”

“I - I can walk. Iggy, I really don’t want to -”

“No arguing. This isn’t something I can fix, Prompto. I won’t leave your side the whole time, if that’s what you’d like, but we really need to get you to a doctor.”

Prompto nods furiously before standing on shaky legs. Ignis wraps his arm around Prompto’s waist, throws his keys over to Gladio with his free hand.

Shoes prove to be the most difficult part of getting Prompto to the car, partly because Ignis has to pass Prompto over to Gladio to get his _own_ shoes on, and Prompto tries again to insist he doesn’t need a doctor. Gladio just levels him with a _look_ and Prompto stops arguing, lets them help him get his uninjured hand into his coat. Getting him down to the car is _far_ easier than it would’ve been in his old flat. Ignis spares a brief moment to be thankful he let his friends talk him into a building with an actual elevator.

Getting Prompto into the car proves to be a challenge, given that he won’t actually open his eyes and has been trembling ever since they left the flat. Gladio slides into the driver’s seat.

Ignis slides into the back seat next to Prompto, pulls him across the bench seat next to him.

“Lean in, Prompto. I’ll help keep your hand up, alright? Your arm must be getting tired.”

Prompto nods and tucks himself into his side, eyes still squeezed shut. Gladio looks at him in the rearview mirror for a long moment before starting the car.

The clinic is blessedly empty when they get there, only one other person in the waiting room looking _very bored_ while they wait for someone. Gladio steps up to the counter to talk to the receptionist, so Ignis leads Prompto over to a bank of hard plastic chairs. There’s a number of wildly out of date magazines on the table nearby. Gladio will probably appreciate those, when he’s done filling out the paperwork.

“It’ll be a few minutes,” Gladio says. “They’ll get you back soon. How’re you doing, Prom?”

Prompto lets out a nervous chuckle. Gladio shrugs and starts leafing through the magazines, reading out the headlines. His attention is mostly on how much Prompto is shaking, but he appreciates the effort Gladio’s putting in to distracting them both.

_Something Goes Viral Online_ is his favourite, frankly. Gladio reads a snippet of the article out loud before the nurse comes out to take Prompto back.

“Iggy, really, this isn’t necessary --”

“Prompto. Please. You’re already here. Just… just let them help you. I know it hurts, and I know you’re scared, but they just want to help. And then we can go back to my flat and break in the new couch by watching a terrible movie and eating utter garbage, alright?”

Prompto goes _pale_ when they start setting up to stitch his hand closed. Not that he wasn’t already alarmingly pale, really. Ignis places his hand on the side of Prompto’s face, gently rubs his thumb along his cheekbone.

“Prompto, I understand you’re scared. You’ve come this far. Close your eyes, if you must, and think about what movie you want to watch when we get back to the flat.”

The nurse gives Ignis a sad smile as Prompto leans into his hand. She takes a breath and picks up the syringe.

“Small pinch, honey. Just to numb it up, and then you won’t feel a thing. Alright?”

Prompto nods, takes a shaky breath. He still jolts when she inserts the needle, whimpers into Ignis’s hand when the needle is pulled away.

“We’ll give that a couple minutes to sink in. The doctor will be right in to finish up. Will you two be okay alone?”

Ignis nods, presses a gentle kiss to Prompto’s forehead. Prompto sniffles, wipes his nose with his uninjured hand.

“Come now, Prompto, there’s no need for tears. We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“Focus on me, okay? Just focus right here, and don’t worry about what she’s doing.”

Prompto buries his face in Ignis’s shoulder and _sobs_ right as the doctor walks in and, well, that’s just how this is going to happen, then. 

The doctor works quickly, tying off seven neat stitches along the back of Prompto’s hand. She nods, puts down her tools, and leaves the room again. The nurse finishes up with Prompto from there, doesn’t speak until she’s done taping down the edges of the gauze.

“Now, don’t get that wet for a couple days. After that, you can shower and wash your hands normally, pat it dry with a paper towel when you’re done. Change out the dressing regularly, and a bit of antibiotic ointment or petroleum jelly will help the gauze not stick to it. We’ll need to see you back in a week to check how it’s healing, and if it’s going well, we’ll remove the stitches then. If it’s going less well, we’ll remove the stitches another day.”

Prompto nods. The nurse looks at Ignis, then back at Prompto, who is staring pointedly at the wall.

“You did _amazing_ , honey. You’ll be just fine.”

Prompto offers a weak smile, still staring at the same spot on the wall.

“He’s going to need a little extra help for a couple days. Are you up to the task?”

“Of course,” Ignis says. “Anything special I should know, or is it fairly standard aftercare?”

“Standard. Make sure he eats something, he’s still a little too pale for my liking. Other than that, just make sure he takes it easy. Hands tend to heal fast, at least, but they’re also easy to reinjure. Overuse can pull on the sutures and, in worst case scenarios, tear them out, so try to keep him from using his injured hand whenever possible. Over the counter painkillers, if needed. I trust you know the signs of infection?”

Ignis nods. He hasn’t gotten this far in his life without learning _something_ from Helen, and basic first aid was mandatory when he joined the Crownsguard. Not that this random nurse at a random clinic knows just what his job is, although she _does_ probably know he’s part of it by now.

The nurse walks them back to the waiting room, where Gladio is engrossed in a tabloid with the headline _Rogue Queen’s Grave Robbed by Cane-Wielding Granny_.

“That garbage again, Gladio?”  
“Hey,” Gladio says, not even lowering the paper. “Better the _Weekly Insomnian_ than the one that keeps running all those exposés about your love life, Iggy. Everyone _knows_ this paper is garbage. That’s why we read it in the first place.”

“I’ll have you know the _Insomnian Star_ hasn’t published a single article about me in months.”

“Yeah, because you scared that reporter so bad he _left the city_.”

“To be fair, I had very little hand in that. I just pointed the right people in the right direction, and watched it take care of itself.”

“Iggy?” Prompto says, voice wavering and quiet. “Can we please just… go?”

Ignis squeezes his hand in return, plucks the paper out of Gladio’s reach before heading for the door. Gladio makes an indignant sound and follows him out, helps him get Prompto settled in the back seat again.

“Hey, Iggy. Are _you_ okay? Because that was a lot.”

“I’m fine, Gladio. A bit tired, maybe.”

“Bullshit,” Gladio says. “Your hands are still shaking, Iggy. Look, we can all hang out some other night. I’m taking you and Prom back to your place, and you’re going to spend the night doting on him and being disgustingly adorable until you both feel better.”

“Gladio, we can’t just _cancel_ \--”

“Already called Noct,” Gladio says. “Let him know we’re rescheduling. His thing with his dad ran long, anyway, so he’s on board with just going to bed. Neither of you is in any shape to have company tonight. I’ll head over to pick him up once I’ve dropped you two off.”

The drive back to his new building is quiet. Prompto dozes off on his shoulder, and even Gladio gives up on making idle conversation before too long. Ignis leans back against the headrest and closes his eyes. It has been a _day_ , and he’s very much looking forward to being back in his own space. Even if he does still need to make the bed and deal with unpacking his belongings.

“You got him from here, Iggy?”

“There’s an elevator, Gladio. We’ll be fine.”

“Alright, then. Try this again next week? Give you a chance to unpack everything. I’ll text you once I get Noct home. Let me know if either of you need anything.”

Ignis nods, pulling Prompto closer to his side again. It’s been a ridiculously long day, when it comes down to it, and he just wants to sit down and not have to _think_ for a while. He’s sure Prompto’s at about the same point.

“Hey, Prompto. Feel better, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Prompto nods tiredly, and Gladio climbs into his car and drives off. Ignis turns them toward the door, intent on getting Prompto back up to his flat. Supposedly, the new couch is _ridiculously_ comfortable, and he’s looking forward to actually getting to sit on it.

Getting Prompto’s shoes _off_ proves to be a lot easier than getting them on. Prompto shuffles over to the couch and flops on it without prompting, so he turns to the kitchen and starts dealing with… everything they left out in their haste to leave earlier. At least they weren’t far into the preparation, so most of it never made it out of the fridge. The towel’s still sitting in the sink, and Ignis throws it straight into the garbage with the half-chopped vegetables. A quick swipe with a bleach wipe takes care of what traces of blood are left, and he washes the knife and his hands before letting himself look at Prompto on the couch.

Prompto’s tucked himself up against the arm of the couch, injured hand propped up on the back, looking _absolutely_ miserable. 

“Prompto. Please. Let me wash that hoodie for you. Best take care of that before the stain sets in. You can borrow one of mine, if you’d like.”

Prompto looks at his sleeve and seems to _finally_ notice the blood on the cuff. His eyes go wide.

“Breathe, Prompto,” he says, holding out the sweater in his arm. “Just trade me, and I’ll go take care of that, alright?”

Prompto squeezes his eyes shut again, takes a few deep breaths before pulling the hoodie over his head and holding it out to Ignis. He ducks into the bathroom and throws it into the washer, gets the soak cycle started while he changes into comfortable clothes, adds the worn ones to the basin, too. No sense in wasting the water on a single hoodie. Finding his laundry soap takes a minute, and by the time he’s back in the living room, Prompto’s put on the new sweater, has the neck pulled up over his nose.  
“Smells like you,” Prompto says. “You’re never getting this back.”

“Ah. A noble sacrifice. I’ll miss that sweater, it always was the coziest. Think you can handle toast? You’re still pretty pale, and you’ve been through a lot.”

Prompto shrugs, which is more of a reaction than he expected to get about food tonight. It only takes a couple minutes to set up the toaster, once he figures out which box it was packed away in. Prompto turns on the tv, but doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to whatever’s on the screen.

“Prompto, would you… would you like to stay the night? It’s been a very trying day. Of course, I’ll drive you home if you’d rather not, but I’d feel better knowing you’re not alone.”

Prompto nods, stares at the plate of toast.

“Please eat something, Prompto. I know it’s been a long day, and honestly, _I’m_ not particularly hungry, either, but we still need to eat.”

“Sorry,” Prompto says. “I -- it was supposed to be a _party_. And I ruined it.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis says, running his fingers through Prompto’s hair. “Maybe not the excitement I was hoping for this evening, but you didn’t ruin anything.”

“I just. I _really_ don’t like doctors, Iggy. Please don’t ask why.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Prompto. If you ever decide to tell me, I’ll listen, but that’s entirely your decision.”

Prompto eventually takes a triangle of toast off the plate, nibbles at the corner of it. Ignis relaxes just a bit. The couch really _is_ comfortable. And he must admit, it’s nice to have a proper screen to watch movies on, instead of just his tiny laptop screen.

His phone pings on the coffee table after a while. Prompto’s only managed to eat the one piece, and he’s not going to push the issue. He suspected it would be difficult to get Prompto to eat anything. He should probably eat some of it, himself, before he gets too wrapped up in his own thoughts to remember food is a thing.

_“Don’t forget to eat, Iggy. Princess had dinner with his dad. Iris says hi.”_

He sends a short _thank you_ back to Gladio and silences his phone for the night. Prompto is dozing off on his shoulder. He’ll eventually need to get up and change the laundry over to the dryer, and he has yet to even put sheets on the bed. The bookshelf Gladio was building is still half-assembled in the corner of the room.

But Prompto’s safe and… well, maybe not content. But it’s enough for now.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i firmly believe gladio sent that last text while standing in a dark kitchen, eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon, fully prepared to pick up food and drive back over to iggy's  
> and iggy 100% forgot to eat, anyway


End file.
